A Tribute to a Founding Father of Kustom Kulture

It's like the swallows to Capistrano, the salmon to their spawning grounds, the lemmings to the sea. A motley collection of greasers and Fifties-style "bad girls" gather every year at Mooneyes speed shop in Santa Fe Springs, California (a suburb southeast of Los Angeles), to pay homage to the original, one-and-only Rat Fink, Ed "Big Daddy" Roth. In his heyday during the Sixties he was known for his offbeat monster-car artwork, model cars and far-out automotive designs. (Who can forget such renowned conveyances as, Beatnik Bandit, Road Agent, Outlaw, Mysterion, Tweedy Pie, Surfite, Wild Child, Angel Fink, Robin Hood Fink, Mothers Worry, and Dragnut?) In recent years, he has refused to go quietly, still making appearances in his trademark top hat to sell and sign all sorts of paraphernalia.

Roth's appeal attracts a whole new generation of younger rat finkers, many of whom in the Sixties had yet to be conceived in the back seat of a Chevy. This year's crowd was twice as large, most of them looking like something straight out of central casting for "Rebel Without a Cause"--cuffed blue jeans, rolled-up T-shirts, 40-weight pompadours, and, more important, tatoos. We're talking really hairy-lookin' ones, and not just one or two--these guys and gals were sleeved, with tats running from neck to wrist (and also areas not seen in public). Body piercing is the latest twist for these "lawless hot rodders" of a bygone era. The Rat Fink vixens, who are probably on a first-name basis at all the vintage clothing stores, applied their makeup with a palette knife and wore tight tops emblazoned with catty challenges such as "I like your husband."

Oh yeah, we almost forgot to mention the cars that showed up: fat fenders, billet rods, tail-draggers, rusto rods, T-buckets, gow jobs, smoothies, rat rods, kustoms, lowriders, pro-streeters, leadsleds--you name it, it was there, including some primo choppers, too. James Hetfield, lead singer of Metallica made an appearance with Jesse James' West Coast Customs and peeled out with his gang of seven on some tricked-out hogs.

The weirdest part of all wasn't the slick, sideburn circus, though. Across the street from all this dilettante decadence was a Calvary Chapel preacher screeching scripture at the throngs, attempting in vain to drown out the rockabilly act with a brimstone message of redemption. Trouble is, the rat fink rodders were just too busy doing burnouts, combing back their hair grease and getting their T-shirts signed. Talk about your culture clash. Then again, it all somehow came together. After all, the preacher man had his own salvaged salvation sled on display, and the Rat Fink faithful were at least dressed in their Sunday best.